


Lady Phantomhive

by Phoenix_of_Athena



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, As if she isn't in canon, BAMF Elizabeth, But Life Is Still Painful, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter length may vary, Character Death, Complicated Relationships in General, Drabble Series, Ensemble Cast, Everything Is Better Without Sebastian, Families of Choice, Family Secrets, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lizzie-centric, Midford Family Dynamics, Minor Original Character(s), Murder Mystery of Sorts, Non-Linear Narrative, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Female Character, Slow To Update, So if you haven't read it from the top in a while, Swordfighting, Swords, This Is Going To Be So AU When We Find Out What Actually Happens In Canon, This Thing is Constantly Under Revision, Watchdog Elizabeth, What Happened To The Phantomhives?, Women Being Awesome, Women In Power, Work In Progress, You might want to, complicated family relationships, one shot series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 9,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena
Summary: Ciel never comes home after the fire, and Lizzie takes up the Phantomhive name and legacy.





	1. "Mien"

Elegant heels clack evenly across cobblestone as a young teen makes her way through the crowd.  As she approaches, smartly dressed man with a large mustache steps up to meet her, a scowl plain on his face.

"Lady Phantomhive," he greets stiffly as he directs her into the cordoned off townhouse to the scene of the crime.

"Commissioner Randall," she responds easily, "What information do you have?"

The man sighs and launches into a description of the deceased's circumstances.

"I see..." the blonde girl murmurs as she rakes her eyes over the bloody exhibition. Something about the scene strikes a note, and turning to the desk by the wall she rifles through its contents until she comes across a familiar slip of paper.  Its presence is just the link she needed; although not a solution, it provides her with a first step.  It will be no trouble at all to obtain a ticket to the opera house, and from there Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford-Phantomhive is confident that everything will fall into place.  But if not, the Queen's Watchdog will definitely find her answers another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins my Kuroshitsuji AU series. In this, Lizzie is obviously the Queen's Watchdog, because Ciel...well, Ciel never came back. But the royal family needs its evil noblemen, and Lizzie is of the bloodline.
> 
> "Mien" refers to demeanor or appearance.


	2. "Obverse"

Her hair was pinned up uncomfortably, and her corset pulled tighter than usual. The dress she wore was an odd thing: a mix of elegant, flowing fabric and hard lines meant to evoke rank. It was made just for her, for this singular occasion of a girl barely into her teens being elevated to take the name and titles of her mother's family, granted by a female monarch whose decision was as unheard of as it was unshakable.

"Welcome, Lady Phantomhive," the queen said warmly as she added to the ornaments of Elizabeth's attire. _Lady Phantomhive._ She was overwhelmed by the want of tears, and struggled to hold them back. Now was not the time. Later, perhaps, she would cry in the arms of Aunt Ann or possibly her mother if she was feeling generous; but now, in front of everyone, she had to be strong. She had to prove that Her Majesty was not wrong, that Elizabeth was as capable as her forefathers. So, no. Not now. But later she would cry because the way that she became Lady Phantomhive was so far from what she had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is a mostly non-linear series, this chapter takes place before the previous one.
> 
> "Obverse:" The face side of the coin; as opposed to the reverse.


	3. "Acquiescence"

Elizabeth is ten years old, and she's staring down at the grave of her best friend. Her cousin. Her future-that-might-have-been-but-never-would-be husband. And it's all so _wrong._ So confusingly, horrifyingly, nauseatingly wrong. Ciel was _good._ He was one of, if not _the_ nicest people that Lizzie had ever met. Nicer than Edward or Daddy, who doted, or Auntie Ann, who gave her gifts and advice in turn, or even endlessly-cheerful Auntie Rachel, who was also gone. Gone. Along with Uncle Vincent, who was Mother's younger brother—and Lizzie can't even imagine loosing Edward, she has no idea how Mother had only cried once—and who had always seemed to defrost and become whole around his family. And Elizabeth would miss her aunt and uncle terribly, she already did, but Ciel was the one she couldn't get over. He had been her world, her rock, her cute little champion and confidant. And she wasn't sure that she ever _wanted_ to get over his death, either, if it meant accepting that the _loss_ of someone so _precious_ and _innocent_ was any kind of okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With regards to Francis, this from Lizzie's POV, and her mother doesn't strike me as the type of person who would willingly show weakness, especially in front of people who need her to be strong. Who's to say that she didn't cry when she was alone, though?  
> (Also, although I subscribe to the two Ciels theory, it won't be showing up here until-or maybe even if-it's confirmed in canon.)
> 
> "Acquiescence:" because she could not


	4. Nexus, Part One: "Polaris"

It was something in the way that he held himself that gave him away. It was in the way he seemed to droop when not the focus of anyone's attention, and melted into the background despite his unusual appearance. It was in the _silences_ that lingered between boisterous laughs that made Lizzie realize that Mr. Undertaker was like her: bent to the verge of shattering with grief (and it made her wonder about his relationship with her family, when Mother said that she had known him since childhood).

Lizzie couldn't encourage his laughter when she thought that so much of it was faked, or some sort of unhealthy coping mechanism to deal with so much death. But maybe, just maybe, she could encourage a smile. And when she managed to succeed, she pretended not to notice that Mr. Undertaker's little slips of information weren't quite as accidental as he pretended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nexus" refers to a network.  
> "Polaris:" what they lost; a guiding star.


	5. Nexus, Part Two: "Numen"

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, but Lizzie had long since given up on such romantic notions. However, there _were_ people who reminded her of the saying, and the assassin was one of them. Sharp and focused, weary and beautiful, her eyes were unique; their extraordinary keenness was as striking as the young woman's burgundy hair.

"Mey-Rin Abery," Elizabeth said softly, "bastard daughter of the merchant Simon Abery and his foreign mistress. I never would have thought that I'd find you here."

Mey-Rin whipped around from where she crouched in front of her rifle, swinging the gun so that it was aimed straight at Lizzie's heart. The young woman stared at the Lady through her bangs as her finger rested firmly on the trigger.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and raspy, as Lizzie gazed calmly back, one hand resting gently against the hilt of her sword.

"I'm Elizabeth. But you can call me Lizzie, if you want." She gave the woman a small grin, and Mey-Rin looked startled.

"I'm here," she continued unbidden, "because that man you're about to kill is an important ambassador and Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, wants him protected. But more importantly, I'm talking to you rather than having come up behind you and used this sword of mine because you don't actually want to hurt him. You have a frightening talent that made others take notice and opened certain kinds of doors...but just because you can fight and kill like the devil doesn't mean that you're one of them. You're just a girl forced to live this way because of your eyes, and I want to offer you an out. Instead of murdering for a living...come and work with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I gave Mey-Rin more of a backstory. She's one of the characters in Kuroshitsuji without an English name, and I wanted to expand on that.
> 
> "Numen:" as in ability or endowment; divine power or spirit; what they possessed.


	6. Nexus, Part Three: "Legacy"

Ciel had always been fond of sneaking away from lessons in favor of play, and throughout her childhood Lizzie had often been dragged along. Some of her cousin's most beloved games at those times were ones of make-believe inspired by the stories and books that he read. This boy standing in front of Elizabeth reminded her of one of Ciel's favorites.

The Fenian Cycle, a part of Irish folklore, featured a boy raised in isolation to be fast and strong: Finn, a hero who stumbled into power after avenging his father's death. That the name also meant "blond" only added to its aptness. Still, Lizzy hesitated to suggest the name to the boy when her cousin had cast himself in the role of the hero so many times. Perhaps a different allusion to the tale….

"Finnian," Lizzie tried, tilting her head as she studied the boy.

"What?"

"You asked me to suggest a name for you," she said, "Finnian. Do you like it? It's from a story about a hero, with hair as blond as yours and just as strong and fast. He was secreted away and raised to be incredibly powerful. He also had a name that was given to him, different from what he was known as at birth. I thought it suited you."

The boy smiled.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, and then added more softly, "I like it."

"Good," Lizzie said, "Then when we teach you how to read, we can use a copy of the book. You'll help teach him, won't you Mey-Rin?" She glanced over at the woman watching from the periphery, and Mey-Rin smiled, brushing her long bangs out from in front of her eyes so they could see her face.

"Of course," the new Lady's Companion said, "I'd be glad to help you learn to read, Finnian. People like us need to help each other out."

Finnian beamed at the two of them.

"Of course," he echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I changed Mey-Rin's position, if you noticed, from maid to lady's companion. It's quite a bit of a promotion, actually.
> 
> "Legacy" refers to a gift or a dedication


	7. Nexus, Part Four: "Credence"

It is generally said to be unwise to stand against a skilled opponent in their own territory. At the moment, Lizzie would be hard pressed to disagree. The woman opposite her was one of the most dangerous people she had faced since becoming the Queen's Watchdog, and was both exhilarating and daunting to combat. She skipped out of range of the assassin's mace-like weapons and Mey-Rin fell into step beside her, the former assassin having just caught up after taking out several other guards with knock-out darts. Now, Mey-Rin leveled her gun at the short Chinese woman in front of them, making her falter as she looked for a way to get to them without taking a hit.

At that moment a door opened at the back of the spacious opium den and a man stepped out. His hands were clasped behind the long sleeves of a changshan and his narrow eyes quickly took in the scene.

"Stand down, Ran-Mao," he ordered softly, causing the assassin to immediately retreat to his side.

"It was inevitable, I suppose," he mused aloud as he stepped further into the room to face the Watchdog and her attendant, "that it would come to this. I don't suppose that we could work out our differences?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed at the man.

"Not unless you begin to follow the laws of the underworld, and stop disrupting the lives of people uninvolved. Then, perhaps, and if you if you're willing to follow _my_ directions, we can come to an arrangement."

The syndicate member's gaze was locked firmly on hers as he said, "Very well…So long as you can explain who you are and what those rules are?"

Lizzie and Mey-Rin shared a look.

"You don't know who we are?" Elizabeth asked skeptically, "Then was all that about inevitability?"

The man laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Credence," as relating to certainty, understanding, trust, or impression
> 
> And yes, I realize that knockout darts may seem a little tame. But obviously this is merely a scene without context. This incursion actually started out more as an investigation which then devolved into combat. (Also, Lizzie promised Mey-Rin that she wouldn't have to kill for a living. She keeps her word and altogether strives to be more honest than Ciel does in canon; although, as this is still pre-canon, we'll see how she might change as time goes on.)


	8. Nexus, Part Five: "Astray"

If there is a god, Lizzie thinks, then he isn't the god that people want. He's not the type to grant miracles or to prove his presence. And he certainly isn't one to step in at the end of a story and save the day.

There's a man standing in front of her now, and she thinks that there was a time when he needed a miracle, but it has passed. It never came. And instead of whatever future he might have had, in spite what kind of person he was, he had ended up working on the docks of Great Britain as part of a crew of smugglers.

As usually seems to happen with interesting people, they had crossed paths because of a case from the queen. Several weeks ago, Her Majesty had requested that Lizzie look into the rash of weapons that were being smuggled into the country from foreign locales. She'd then been on the hunt for some time without catching a break since the smugglers were clean. They didn't deal in anything but weapons and they were careful. In fact, Lizzie had been thinking that she'd have to set up a network to catch them when she'd received an anonymous tip. The smugglers had gotten wind that she was on their tail, and someone on the inside had given them up: _this_ man. The twitchy blond, wearing an old army cap and clenching a cigarette in his teeth.

And now, having rounded up the others who were part of the smuggling operation, only he is left. And the question is:

"Why?"

"Why, what?" the man asks.

"Why did you give up your crew? No—why were you a part of it if you obviously hated it?"

The man sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as they stand on a shabby little street corner in London. They appear to be alone, but Lizzy knows that Mey-Rin is keeping an eye out from a high perch somewhere.

"There's not much work out there," the man finally says, "when you're dishonorably discharged from the army. But I still had some friends, and they set me up. So, here I am. That what you wanted to hear? It's shitty work, and I hate it, but I've got no other options. And I just doubly screwed myself over by turning my only source of employment over to some British kid on a power trip. Damn me and my fucked up morals."

Elizabeth can't help but laugh; she thinks that she's found, here, a gem in the rough.

"I'm Elizabeth," she says, and holds out her hand.

"Baldroy. I go by Bard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for "Nexus."  
> Anyway, out of all of them, I think Bard is the most affected by the fact that Sebby isn't here. He was in war, and this time there was no deus ex machina to get him out. So...he's going to be the most radically changed out of the servants, as you'll come to see. Also...where is Tanaka...? Hmmm...
> 
> "Astray," as in being lost, off course, or missing.


	9. "Transmogrification"

Some days Lizzie wondered what the world would be like if Ciel were the one standing in her place. Would he be desperately watching and hoping, as she was, that the night would not end with the loss of another family member? Would his mind, like hers, be racing and pouring over the past for any hint of when this began or any way that it could have been prevented—any way that he could have been _enough_ for Madam Red? Would his hand have been braced on his weapon as both he and Auntie Ann poured their hearts out, as he admitted that she had always been another mother to him, a gentle hand in a ferocious world that would never turn him away when he had no one else to be weak in front of? And would Ciel's eyes have been as cold as Lizzie's as Angelina Dalles pulled out her knife and he was forced to defend himself? Could he have been able to kill his own aunt, like she had?

Would Ciel Phantomhive have been a better, stronger, more capable human being that Elizabeth Phantomhive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first glimpse of manga plot! And look, it’s already diverging!  
> (And yes, I love the irony of Lizzie thinking that Ciel would be more brave when in reality he couldn't kill Madam Red. :) )  
> Also, there's more of this arc to come, but not immediately. Whereas I kept "Nexus" together to provide a solid background, this arc doesn't really need that and will likely be scattered or at least have interludes between the chapters. It depends on what I feel like writing, honestly.
> 
> "Transmogrification," as in a grotesque or horrifying change


	10. Adaptation, Part One: "Phylogeny"

The aftermath was something the like of which Elizabeth hoped never to face again. Although her mother and aunt bore the brunt of it, neither Edward or Lizzie could escape the madness that crept into their lives. Francis was left struggling to pick up the pieces of the Evil Noblemen's cases as well as the Phantomhive business interests, even as she worked through what was left in the rubble with Aunt Angelina. And the funerals the two women handled together, arranging for the assistance of an old friend of the family.

While Father had attempted in the beginning to bear some of the load, Francis had pushed him out declaring it was a family duty (still, Edward had claimed one evening to see Father hold her in his arms, and Mother quietly linger there). Lizzie and her brother, meanwhile, were almost lost in the chaos. And Edward, for a lack of any means to help, decided that it was his responsibility to protect his sister from the worst of it. When one of the adults looked fit to break, he would herd Lizzie away with diversions or lessons, and she, for the most part, went along with it, unable to deny her brother the feeling of usefulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right around the same times as "Acquiescence," or a little after.  
> We're not done with Jack the Ripper yet, though; I'll be getting into the meat of the red butler arc in a few chapters. But for now, this is a two-parter, so there's another half to "Adaptation."
> 
> "Phylogeny:" of them all


	11. Adaptation, Part Two: "Ontogeny"

Mother said it was a duty. As a Phantomhive by blood and loyalty, Francis refused to let the family die. And, no matter what Lizzie would have wanted, she was of the bloodline as well and the second child of a Marquis who already had an heir.

To her credit, Mother had tried to break it to Elizabeth gently, building up to the announcement with talk of responsibility and lessons beyond the scope of those she'd had before. It was only after Lizzie had staunchly refused that Mother spoke of justice, of foul play; of how the Phantomhives deserved the first and had were responsible for sorting out the latter. To gain the resources that she needed, she would need to take on those responsibilities.

And if Elizabeth was to use her newfound resources to avenge the family that they rightfully belonged to, then it wasn't a betrayal, was it? She wasn't acting as if she was a replacement, but the final arrow shot by a bowman before he himself was felled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ontogeny:" of herself


	12. "Cut In"

That the intruders had managed to get so far into the Midford Manor spoke to their skill, but it was poor luck that had them passing directly by the Marquis while the door to his study was open. Obviously, Alexis Leon Midford did not let them pass uninhibited. No, he called out a greeting instead, his voice drawing Elizabeth out into the hall from her own office.

"Earl Gray! Earl Phipps!" he hailed the two young men, stepping out into the hall as his voice deepened in seriousness, "Your presence was not announced. Not that it isn't a pleasure to have you in my home, but might I ask what your business is?"

"Ah," Charles Gray started, leaning casually with a smirk, "our business is with your daughter. The Queen has a message for Lady Phantomhive." He waved the missive lazily in the air before the other half of the Double Charles snatched it out of his hand.

"I apologize for the intrusion," Phipps said, and turned towards Elizabeth who had been watching from her doorway.

"Allow me to deliver our letter and we will be out of your way. Lady Phantomhive," he bowed over her hand, letter outstretched for her to take. As she did so, Earl Gray snagged his partner by his shirtsleeve and proceeded to leap out the window with Phipps in tow. Father and daughter were left gazing wordlessly after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cut In," as in to intrude or to cause a disruption.


	13. "First Blush"

"I'm going into London for the season," Elizabeth announced as her family gathered around the table for supper.

"I'll come with you," Edward immediately offered, and Elizabeth's eyes leapt to her brother's earnest face.

Sighing, she smiled and said, "I'll have Mey-Rin with me, brother, so don't put yourself out for my sake."

Edward sputtered, but Lizzy cut him off again before he could get a word out.

"Besides, I'm going for work; it really isn't your problem and I don't need protecting."

"Lizzie….Mother, Father, I should go with her—!"

"No," Francis said, "My daughter can handle herself. The _Lady Phantomhive_ needs to handle herself. And if the queen has a request, then it is not for the son of a knight to interfere."

Alexis slowly nodded in agreement.

"Lizzie won't be alone, Edward," he said, "and besides, I'm sure that she'll be checking in with Angelina Burnett while she's there. She won't be on her own."

Lizzie smiled, as Mother sighed and Edward looked pensive. And away in her study, a letter from the queen sat waiting on her desk next to an article on Jack the Ripper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the start of the Jack the Ripper Arc! :)  
> (And yet, my muse keeps throwing me at the circus arc and the green witch arc, ugh. Those are so much easier to write right now, but I really need to write it somewhat in order to maintain character development. *sighs*)
> 
> "First Blush," as in the outset, or a pale red


	14. "Roseate"

Elizabeth entered the polished entry hall of the Phantomhive townhouse with a sigh of appreciation. Mey-Rin came in beside her, followed by Paula, who hung up their overcoats and Elizabeth's beribboned hat before making her way upstairs with their bags. Her heels echoed softly against the tile as she went. When the Lady and her Companion made their way up to the study, however, the tranquil atmosphere was torn apart: a trio of familiar intruders had invaded their home, and were in the process of tearing the room apart.

Stopping short, Elizabeth's shock quickly morphed into delight.

"Aunt Ann!" she exclaimed, rushing forward over scattered debris to embrace the woman she considered an aunt. Angelina Dalles caught her easily, and returned the hug with as much enthusiasm.

"Lizzie!" she grinned as she pulled away, "We didn't expect you so soon; we'd hoped to have some tea prepared when you got back."

With a laugh, Lizzie raised an eyebrow at the trio, asking, "And you didn't think to try the kitchen? Mey-Rin, would you be a dear and show Mister Grell where the tea things are, and I'll help my aunt and Mister Lau fix this little mess they've caused?" With this, she pinned the culprits with a sudden glare, and they were quick to acquiesce.

A short time later found the group seated around a table as talk turned to Lizzie's case.

"What are you planning?" Madam Red asked as she smirked over her tea, and Elizabeth frowned in thought as she tapped her nails against her own cup with a delicate tinkling sound. Finally, she said, "For now…I intend to discover the exact circumstances of this case. I…I know that this isn't an ordinary case, to pique the queen's interest. Women are being murdered on the street, and I…I need to examine the crime."

And if Madam Red looked faintly ill at her declaration, then Lizzie really couldn't blame the woman. But even if she wasn't fond of her young niece seeing something so gruesome, Lizzie thought, at least she didn't have to see it for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Roseate," meaning hopeful, promising, and optimistic; a rosy shade of red


	15. Elixir Vitae

Elizabeth dreamed that Ciel had come home.  It had been an imperfect dream, almost real in that he didn’t return the way that he left but came back damaged and different; but still, that dream had been that happiest that Lizzie had been in a long time.  Her dream-self had rushed to her cousin and held him, her hands in his soft, slate gray hair and clutched in the velvety fabric of his jacket, just touching him and knowing that he was _real_ and that he was _home._  

She had woken up crying, still hazy from sleep as her body shook and her face twisted into something uncomfortable and unattractive.  And the girl had pulled her comforter up over her head, buried herself down into her pillow, and remembered holding him in her arms.  She was still crying as she fell back asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude; pre-canon or early canon.
> 
> “Elixir Vitae:” a balm; a lie


	16. Rust

The room seemed unnaturally silent, now, after the ruckus that had occurred only moments earlier.  Lizzie sighed, and allowed herself to slump for a moment as Mr. Undertaker looked on in concern. 

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into Madam Red, but her aunt had begun to rail the moment they had arrived here, beginning with an exclamation of, _“Just what sort of person are you associating with?”_ upon the sight of Mr. Undertaker’s sign, and only quieting at the mention of Uncle Vincent’s history with the mortician.  And then again mere minutes ago, after Lizzie had commanded the rest of her party leave the Funeral Parlor, Angelina had patronized Elizabeth in front of her associates and colleagues. 

 _“Lizzie,”_ her aunt had said when Mr. Undertaker had implied a price for his information, _“That’s terribly inappropriate!  Whatever he’s asking, we can cover it.  You’re only—”_

 _“The Lady Phantomhive,”_ Elizabeth had interrupted, her face set _, “and Her Majesty’s Watchdog.”_

Because while Aunt Ann might have had reasonable case regarding propriety in normal circumstances, objecting as she was to Elizabeth being alone with a man, in their current company it was superfluous; they all knew Lizzie’s station as Lady Phantomhive, and they all knew what priorities it mandated. 

“Little Lady?” Mr. Undertaker prompted after a minute had passed in silence, “That was quite a lot of excitement for my humble shop.  I can see why you’ve only brought Miss Mey-Rin to visit me before.  The two of _you_ don’t get soooo upset over a few neatly cut up corpses.”

Allowing herself to be diverted, Lizzie caught his hint.

“Neatly?” she echoed, eyeing him closely.

“Oooops, did I say that?” Mr. Undertaker chuckled, “Well, I suppose….  You see, each of the murdered women had their uterus removed with surgical precision.  You should be careful with this one; our criminal seems to have something against humans having a uterus.”  He peered at her from behind long bangs, and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

“Are you implying that I’m in danger because of my gender?” she asked, “I don’t exactly meet the other specifications of the victims.”

Mr. Undertaker giggled.

“No, no!” he hastened to deny, raising his hands as if warding off an attack, “I would never impinge upon your Ladyship’s honor by implying that sort of thing.  All the same, though…” he hesitated slightly, his good humor fading, “this case is foreboding.  The murderer might be choosing their victims for a reason, but they won’t hesitate to harm those who get in their way.  It would be prudent to stay very alert until ‘Jack the Ripper’ is caught.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Undertaker,” Lizzie said thoughtfully, “I will.”

The mortician's expression remained troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, naming these things is a bother like you wouldn't imagine. I'll not do titles on a theme for the next arc.  
> (Also, it's the wrong fandom entirely, but May the 4th be with you!)
> 
> "Rust:" corrosion, decay, or a brownish shade of red


	17. Bittersweet

“Jack the Ripper is choosing his victims for a reason,” Lizzie told Mey-Rin over breakfast, “At least, that’s what Mr. Undertaker said.  And they each had their uterus removed by someone skilled.  Mey-Rin…”

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth?” the woman asked, her voice soft and encouraging as Lizzie puzzled out the case.

“What we have to go on is this: the state of the victims, their backgrounds, and the medical experience of the murderer.  So…we look into the murdered women, and see if there’s a connection other than their occupation.  And even better if this leads us to someone with a medical background.  Aunt Ann can probably help us there,” Elizabeth sighed, and set down her teacup.

“She and Lau are coming over for lunch, so we have the morning to find out what we can about the victims.  If we’re to accomplish anything at all, we’d best get going.”

Discovering anything new about the murdered prostitutes was more difficult than they had presumed, however.  Official channels had turned up virtually nothing about the women who lived in London’s shadows, and they’d only had time to put out the word that the Watchdog was looking for information before they’d had to rush home again.

Lunch was a return to normality after the hectic morning, and Lau and Angelina plied her for information.

“What have you learned?” her aunt asked as Grell hovered anxiously at her shoulder, and Lizzie sighed. 

“Not much, I’m afraid,” she admitted, “As you know, Mr. Undertaker said that the killer removed an organ, and I’ve been trying to find out more from my informants, but either they don’t know anything, or they’re being extremely tight-lipped.  I’m going to wait and see if anything comes up, but….”

“I see,” Angelina murmured, and Elizabeth looked at her in concern.

“Is something the matter, Aunt Ann?”

“It’s just,” her aunt frowned, “you shouldn’t have to live your life like this, Lizzie.  You’re only a child, and yet for the sake of the Phantomhive family, you break taboo, you consort with unsavory people, and you deal with things that would disturb grown adults!  At this age, you should be worrying about clothes and shoes and who’s attending what party, not…not _this._ ” 

“Auntie,” Lizzie smiled, and reached out to take her hand, “I _do_ do all of those things.  I definitely keep up with the latest fashion,” she giggled, “But I have responsibilities too, although I keep them separate.  You…If I had my choice, you wouldn’t have gotten wrapped up in any of the Evil Nobleman’s cases at all.  You’re my aunt, and you know _me_ , not the Queen’s Watchdog.  I’ve grown up with the Phantomhive legacy my whole life, but this…this shouldn’t be your problem.  I guess we both want to protect each other, don’t we?” 

Aunt Ann’s eyes looked suspiciously wet, and she gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze.

“Yes,” she said, “I suppose we do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bittersweet:" of feeling, of taste, of the colors red and yellow


	18. Copper

Elizabeth and Mey-Rin were dressed in nondescript street clothes as they waited in the back of a pub for their informant.  Surreptitiously, Mey-Rin withdrew the lorgnette she wore on a chain around her neck to read the note that had been delivered to their home earlier that evening by a scruffy street rat of a boy.

“It’s the right time,” she muttered to Elizabeth, “Do you see a man with a red handkerchief?” 

Lizzie scanned the crowd again. 

“There.”

Following him, they slipped out the back.

There was a swift exchange of words, and Mey-Rin took careful notes before Lizzie pressed a small coin purse into the man’s hand.  He looked uneasy.

"Yer just a slip of a thing," he grumbled, "Didn't expect that. Take—take care. Ya' must know it's dangerous." The man ducked his head, scowling, and slipped away around a grimy street corner.

“The _names,_ Mey-Rin?” Elizabeth sighed, “Do we know who'll be next?”

“Right,” the redhead said, “Nine prostitutes were seen visiting the Royal London Hospital for an unknown procedure.  Of them, eight are already dead.  The only person left is one…Mary Jane Kelly.”

“Mary Jane Kelly,” Elizabeth echoed, “She’s our first priority.  We’ll need to take her somewhere safe, in absolute secrecy.”  She paused.  “Do you think that Mr. Undertaker would mind us questioning her at his shop?”

“We can worry about that later.  We have to find her first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that I should note: although in real life there were only five murders that were likely committed by Jack the Ripper, in Kuroshitsuji canon, both the manga and the anime, when Ciel holds up his list of Madam Red's victims there are about eight or nine names crossed off.
> 
> Also, you know what sucks? Trying to keep this thing historically accurate when the manga has televisions, cars (they could be steam powered cars, but what they show looks way too modern) and whatever the heck they used for all the performances in the current arc, all in the 1800s. D: By the way, did you know that gramophone records were first marketed in 1889?
> 
> "Copper," referring to money, a conductive metal, or brownish shade of red


	19. Incarnadine

_Impossible._

_It wasn’t possible._

Mary Jane Kelly sat across the table from Elizabeth, completely unaware that she had just upended the girl's world. 

Because…they knew what the procedure at the hospital was, now.  And they knew who had preformed it. 

Elizabeth wanted to scream. 

Beside her, Mey-Rin had lifted a hand in shock to cover parted lips, and to the side of the room, Mr. Undertaker had frozen where he’d stooped to light a candle.

Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed.  She never had been one for self delusion.

(If she had been, she might have wondered if she confronted Madam Red, could she talk her out of future murders?  If killings stopped, then there was no problem, right?  That would be the end of it.  Nothing needed to change….)

But Lizzie wasn’t one for self delusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Incarnadine:" to stain red


	20. Pomegranate

Mr. Undertaker had caught her arm and pulled her aside, after she’d slipped away and left Mey-Rin to guard the potential victim. 

He guided her gently into a separate room in the back of his shop, where he ushered her into a dusty armchair and pressed a cup of tea into her hands.  Then he disappeared with a swish of fabric behind a doorway marked with long dark curtains, and Lizzie was left staring into her cup.

It was an actual cup.  Bone white, with tiny pink and gold flowers curling around it's edges, it looked as though it might once have been decent quality, but now it was chipped and the handle had a thin spider web of a crack running along its surface.  In her hands, the cup was almost uncomfortably hot.  Lizzie tried not to think.

Mr. Undertaker came back carrying a long, thin, package and knelt in front of her chair.

Situated as they were, they were of a height, and Mr. Undertaker gazed at her through his bangs before gently tugging the untouched tea from her hands and placing it on the floor. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “and how you’ve been operating has been fine under normal circumstances.  But we’ve gone past normal, now, Little Lady, and if you’re going to go back out there on your own you’ll need more than what you have.  So, I thought that you should take this.” 

He pushed the package into Elizabeth’s hands and pulled away, turning to fidget with a skull and several glass bottles on one of the small tables in the room.  Lizzie unwound the paper wrapping.

“It’s a rapier,” she blinked, “I already have swords, Mr. Undertaker.  Thank you, but…”

“Just keep it with you,” the mortician hummed, still rummaging through the contents of his table, “My advice has paid off before.  Just hold on to it, will you, M’lady?” 

He finally turned to look at her again, and she thought she caught a glimpse of green behind his bangs.  She found she liked the thought of Mr. Undertaker sharing the same color eyes as most of her family.

“All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pomegranate:" the red fruit whose seeds bound Persephone to the Underworld
> 
> So, I accidentally deleted this chapter before posting it (don't mess around when sleep deprived, folks)....  
> And I've just gotta say that I love the format of AO3 in general. It's SOOO easy to go back and edit or insert chapters (especially compared to fanfiction.net, which is where I started out; ffn gets more reviews, though).


	21. Hallowed

“One, two, three…” Elizabeth counts aloud as she bounces on her toes, her hands clapped tight over her eyes in the entry hall of the Midford Manor. 

“Ten!” she finally shrieks, and spins around to look at the room, her eyes skimming over the ribbons that adorn the columns and are draped delicately over the banisters.

“Ready or _not_ , here I come!” 

Grinning, the newly-turned-six-year-old sprints out of the hall, giggling as she trips over an ottoman in the drawing room and checks behind each of the sofas.  Slowing to a stop, the child huffs to catch her breath and chews on her lip in thought, a bad habit that Mother is trying to train out of her.  A thought comes to her, and moving more slowly she makes her way through the house and down to the cellar. 

Gazing down the dark staircase, Lizzie hesitates before pushing the feeling away and stomping down the stairs.  In games like this, it seems like Ciel always wins, but this time Elizabeth refuses to let him!  It’s her birthday, after all, and just this once she’ll be stubborn enough and clever enough to win for sure. 

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, Lizzie clutches at her ruffled skirts and pokes around in the gloom behind barrels and boxes.  It would be just like Ciel to be hiding down here where he thinks she’s too scared to go, but Lizzie can brave when it suits her, and she slowly makes her way around the room to check behind every object.  Yet once she’s searched the entire space and neither her brother nor Ciel are there to be found, the surroundings reassert themselves and she quails as the blackness looms around her.  It’s with a sudden quickness that she takes to the staircase once again and climbs back up. 

Once there, however, she finds herself at a loss, and with a pout she returns methodically searching every room.  It’s in the nursery that Lizzie strikes gold; her eyes catch on the slightly crooked setting of the toy chest in the corner, and she leaps behind it with a high, shrill cry of triumph.  Edward squeaks as his younger sister lands on his shoulders, and grumbles as he staggers upright and dumps her off of him and onto the chest. 

“You found me, Lizzie,” he grins, moving to muss her blonde curls as she bats his hand away, “Good job.  Any luck with Ciel, yet?”

“No,” Lizzie says sullenly, clutching his shoulders and hanging off of him, “And I went down to the cellar and _everything_.”

“By yourself?” Edward asks, raising an eyebrow, and Lizzie nods.

“You’re getting brave, little sister; with that kind of attitude, there’s no way you won’t find him!” 

Grinning again, Elizabeth grabs his hand and tugs him out of the room.

“This way!” she cries, and leads the charge down the long hallway of the upper landing. 

After an hour of searching, however, Lizzie is tired and frustrated, and Edward is getting sick of being dragged along.  Looking down at her brother as he slumps onto the floor, Lizzie plants her hands on her hips and gives a tiny harrumph. 

“Let’s take a break!” she declares, “Not giving up, just a break.  The grownups have sweets outside.”

Edward agrees, and skips after her with a new spring in his step. 

“You think they’ll have those little cakes?” he asks, and Lizzie sticks out her tong at him.

“Of course!” she says, “It’s my birthday, silly.  There’ll be _lots_ of cakes.  All _kinds_ of cakes.  Strawberry, chocolate...” she lists as they tromp outside.  But when they reach the party outdoors, her mumbling shifts into a shriek of pure outrage. 

Because Ciel is sitting comfortably on Auntie Ann’s lap as she cuts him a piece of chocolate cake.

The little boy looks up at her sudden scream, and his face morphs into a cheerful, angelic smile. 

“Lizzie!” he greets, flinging himself off of Angelina’s lap and racing to meet her, “C’mon, I want to give you your gift!”  He drags her back to the table with the adults, and reaches out to Aunt Rachel, who plops a crookedly wrapped package into his hands. 

“Here, Lizzie.  That’s from me!” he beams, as she bemusedly digs her fingers under the paper and tears it open. 

Her mouth drops open as she opens the box inside, and she squeals in delight at the sight of the stuffed animal within. 

“Ciel!  You’re the best!”

She lunges forward to catch her cousin in a hug, the stuffed rabbit caught between them. 

The adults titter, Madam Red’s hand falls soft in her hair, and Edward grumbles about not being the best.  It is, Lizzie thinks, absolutely the best birthday ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interlude. Because otherwise I'll melt into a soggy puddle of sadness, and you'll get no more chapters from me at all. :)  
> Also, FYI, I'm gonna be moving soon, so if my updating schedule is disrupted during the next couple of weeks, that's why. (But is anyone still reading this, anyway?)
> 
> "Hallowed," as in blessed, beloved, celebrated, or idolized


	22. Castles

Elizabeth has a summer birthday, and Ciel has a winter one, and as a result there are four months out of the year that she is two years older than him instead of one.  So it is, that Lizzie is ten and Ciel is eight this evening as they sit together on a stone bench in the Phantomhive hedge maze. 

“Ciel,” she asks, as the breeze ruffles her hair and makes the leaves whisper around them, “When we’re grown up, how many children do you want to have?”

Ciel’s brow furrows and he stares at her for a moment, before he says definitively,

“Two.”

“Why two?”

At this, Ciel smiles.

“Well,” he says, waving one hand at the sky as the other clutches the edge of the bench, “Everyone in our family has two, right? You and Edward, Mother and Auntie Ann, Father and your Mother.”

“True,” Lizzie muses as she gives him a smile.  In the gathering dusk, his eyes are the precise color of the darkening sky. 

“What do you want to name them?” she asks.

Now Ciel hesitates, turning to face her.

“What do you want them to be called?” 

This, Lizzie can answer with feeling.

“Claudia,” she says, “after Grandmother, for a girl.  For middle names, either we draw from the family trees or just see what sounds good.  If it’s a boy…well, at least one of his names should be for Auntie Ann’s husband.  Don’t you think?”

Ciel is looking at her in surprise. 

“Y—yeah,” he says, “That…I think that would be nice.” 

Around them, the hedges rustle and sigh, and the sun sinks below the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I started thinking about birthdays after the last chapter, and this is where my brain went. :)  
> Shoooould get back to Jack the Ripper next, though, unless I write something else that I think needs to come first.  
> Also! We've got a new house~! Now we just have to actually move....
> 
> "Castles..." in the air


	23. Amaranth

“Madam, I heard—”

Grell froze in the doorway, his eyes locking onto the same spot that held Elizabeth’s attention: the place on the floor where Angelina Dalles’ body lay. 

And although Lizzie’s eyes drifted up to find him, he didn’t gain her focus.

“Wha-Madam?!” Grell quavered, as Lizzie heard again:

_“What those women had—what I could never have again—!”_

“You—” gasped Grell, as his eyes darted between her and the body, and Lizzie remembered,

_“You’re just a child, you couldn’t possibly understand!”_

(But she did, _she did_.)

“My Madam Red…” murmured the butler, stumbling forward to kneel before the baroness’ still form.  Heedless of the blood, he caressed her cheek. 

“Even now,” he whispered, “you are as beautiful as the night we first met, died crimson with your victim’s blood.  But this time…it seems I missed my queue.”

Echoed in his tone, Lizzie heard her aunt’s cry of,

_“I lost everything!”_

(As if she was the only one; as if she was _alone_.)

And as Grell gently pulled off Angelina’s coat to tug it onto his larger form, she finally spoke.

“You were her accomplice, then, Mr. Grell?”

Grell eyed her from where he now stood with the red coat hanging low about his shoulders, and his lips twitched into a sneer.

“Of course I was!” he proclaimed, “For her, for the sake of the feelings we shared, I broke oh-so-many rules…and put on _quite_ a show.  It was the performance of a _lifetime_ …and I didn’t even reach the finale.  And I just can’t stand for that.  To think, I thought that you were just a cute little girl, but really you’re a _disgusting little brat._   And I’m already sure to get in trouble, so why not go all the way?” he shrugged, “At the very least I can do everyone a favor, and get rid of an _annoyance_ like you.”

There was a roar like thunder, and Elizabeth’s hand clenched around the familiar hilt of her sword.  Then Grell was surging forward, swinging an enormous, gleaming menace of metal teeth, and she had to dodge out of the way, sliding along the wall of what had once been Madam Red’s tastefully decorated sitting room.  The spinning blade bit into the wall with a howl, and Grell sliced through it as if it were gossamer, slinging the machine around to face her.

“What—what _is_ that?” Lizzie gasped, her gaze flickering between Grell’s luminescent green eyes and the sharp whirling metal.

 _“This,_ ” Grell purred, “Is a death scythe of my own design.  Every death scythe can cut through anything, but mine is especially _ferocious_.”  His face split into a sharp grin, and he dashed across the room to where she’d edged away from the bizarre weapon.  Lizzie’s eyes widened, and she barely had time to take a breath, let alone bring up her blade to block—and the sword _shattered_ , splinters of metal caught up in the rotation of Grell’s scythe and spat out again.  Lizzie staggered to the side as the shrapnel caught her cheek, and the scythe roared in her ears and swept ever downwards towards her.  Her world narrowed down to only the screaming metal and the beat of her own heart and she allowed herself to fall to her knees as she grasped amongst her petticoats for another blade.  Her hand found a hilt, and she drew before her the sword that Mr. Undertaker had given her.  Metal met metal again only inches above of her face, and there was a terrible screech as sparks flew.  Elizabeth stared up at the locked blades in grim determination as Grell blinked down, confounded.

“What?!”

The girl’s eyes narrowed and she surged upwards, taking advantage of Grell’s shock-slackened grip.  She twisted her blade fiercely, forcing heavy metal of the scythe to follow the motion and wrench out of her opponent’s hands.

“Wha-what?” Grell screeched, diving to scramble for his machine, only to find the tip of Elizabeth’s sword at his throat. 

“Grell Sutcliff,” she said coldly, “In the name of the queen, you are hereby under arrest.  You may—”

“Pardon the intrusion,” a crisp voice interrupted. 

And the world fell out of place, or she out of place within it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Man, when life hits you, it hits hard and it doesn’t pull it’s punches. *sighs*  
> So, y’all know I’ve been dealing with moving, right? And all that that entails…But in addition, my summer classes started, I’ve had work, I went to visit my cousin before she moved to Guam for a year…and I got selected for jury duty. It lasted over a week. And it was the most mentally and emotionally draining thing that I’ve ever experienced. I hope I never have to do that again in my entire life. So…sorry for the delay.  
> …In addition, I’ve rewritten this chapter multiple times, argh. I’m still not perfectly happy with it.  
> On another note, this story has reached its one year anniversary! And my birthday is on Monday. Leave a review in celebration?
> 
> “Amaranth:” a mythical undying flower; a shade of red


	24. Infrared

Her Majesty’s Watchdog awoke with her cheek pressed into the carpet and her head throbbing.  She blinked, bleary-eyed, into the burgundy wool for scarcely a second before panic flushed in and she jolted upright causing her head to swim.  Fighting back tears of both pain and anguish, Lizzie cursed aloud. There was no one here to hear her after all; no one but a corpse.  This night had gained her nothing.

Bracing herself on an end table, Lizzie forced herself to her feet with one hand clasped to her temple, which felt suspiciously tender; a trip to the hospital would likely be in order once she had checked in on Mey-Rin and Ms. Kelly.  Stumbling into the doorframe, she let out a cry of frustration, and after pausing there to bite back a wave of nausea the girl trod slowly down towards the front door.  As she did so, her thoughts spun in wild trains: _who_ was the man that had interrupted her arrest?  _Why_ would he appear—at precisely that moment—to rescue Grell Sutcliff?  And _how_ , exactly, did Sutcliff know him?  They had the same eyes, she had noticed.  Perhaps he was a relation, who had also been a part of the murders?  But in that case, then how far might the conspiracy have gone?

And no, it wouldn’t make sense for anyone other than Madam Red and her confidant to have been involved.  Lizzie was sure of that, having heard her story.  So where did the man fit in?  And how had he moved quickly enough to knock her out even after announcing his presence from across the room?

All she had to go on was the name “Will,” which Grell had shouted upon his arrival, and an embittered mutter involving “dispatch management,” which was really nothing at all.

Elizabeth realized that she was missing a piece of the puzzle; a piece so large that she couldn’t begin to guess at its form.  But at the moment, as Mey-Rin met her at the door with an apology for leaving her post, Lizzie could barely bring herself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again~!  
> …The thing y’all have got to understand about this story, is that there are so many directions I can go that I’m sooo often not sure which path to take. I have a friend IRL whose opinion I get on things, but she hasn’t actually read any of this fic, so it really comes down to my judgment… Decision making is the bane of my existence. *sigh* Plus, oh my god, I am so stressed out by the state of the world right now (for instance, my cousin is and has been in Guam during that whole…thing). 
> 
> Also, classes start for me on Monday (I get to take anatomy and physiology this semester, yay!) but I have the next chapter already done, so that should be posted within the week.
> 
> "Infrared:" light that lies outside of the visible spectrum; a shade of red


	25. Brick

It hurt watching the others hurt, more than the loss she felt for herself.  And it stung facing their pity and their sympathy, her brother’s open arms, and all the while knowing that she had caused this. 

“Lizzie,” Edward murmured as he wrapped a heavy arm around her, “it’s okay, you can cry if you want.  No one would judge you; not here.” 

Elizabeth’s shoulders stiffened under his embrace.  He didn’t understand…it wasn’t that she was ashamed of tears, but that her grief was private; or that standing here, in the midst of all of these people who had loved her aunt, she almost felt more sick than grieved. 

But he wouldn’t understand; he couldn’t; she hadn’t told him.  Edward only knew that his sister had loved Angelina Dalles dearly, and that she must be devastated at her funeral.  And as for who did know…her eyes found her parents, who had approached the casket to say their farewells, and she wondered whether her mother was whispering spiteful things to the woman who had tried to hurt her daughter, or if she only saw another sister lost. 

Further back her eyes found Mey-Rin, who was looking straight at her, and Lizzie quickly turned away.  She did not want to be here.  But it was her _aunt._   And it was her deed.  It would be as shameful and as painful not to be here as it would be inappropriate to cry while knowing that she caused the tears of others.

Elizabeth shrugged away from Edward’s suffocating hug, and stood on her own as she failed to fight back her tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's this arc done!  
> I didn’t intend to write the funeral, really. But the first sentence wouldn’t leave my head and then the rest of if pretty much wrote itself. So here’s this chapter. It was way easier to write than the previous one.   
> ...  
> *whispers* I just want to know Ciel's name. just his name. what iiiiiiis it? chapter 132...I'm counting on you!
> 
> “Brick:” a block of clay hardened in intense heat; one piece of a stable wall or pavement; a yellowish or brownish red


	26. Eidolon

Midford Manor is different from when she was a child.  It has different people; a different character.  But then again, Lizzie thinks as she lies in bed and stares up at the canopy, perhaps it is just her impression of the place that has changed.  Perhaps it’s just _her_ that’s different.

But no, she argues to herself as she rolls to face the pale window curtains that filter out the pre-dawn light, it is definitely different here.  For all that her father is a knight, the house has never been so militant.  With Mr. Bard and Finnian working as a groom and an assistant gardener respectively, and Mey-Rin living in close quarters, there is feeling of readiness in the air; the expectation that sooner or later trouble will find them.  And that’s not even considering old Mister Tanaka, who mother had taken in after his release from the hospital.  Although old now, and hampered by his lingering injuries, he is extremely observant and keen to protect. 

Lizzie sighs, and rolls back over to bury her face into her pillows.  She’s not quite sure that she _likes_ the new atmosphere of the house these days; it’s as if a ghostly apparition has made its home here, its taint slowly leeching the vitality from the place.  Surely this gloom would be better kept away from a family that embodies nobility and virtue such as the Midfords.  Surely it would be better to take such a baleful specter elsewhere.

One day, she thinks she will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Eidolon:" an apparition; a phantom; an ideal


	27. Slip

Life is precious.

Intellectually, this is something that Lizzie has known for as long as she can remember.  But she hadn’t _understood_ it until the winter when she was ten.

Life is fragile, too, and she’d thought that was a truth she’d learned at the same time. 

But now, as she holds the life of another human being in her hands for the very first time, she knows that she hadn’t. 

Lizzie appears stoic as she stands by her mother’s side and faces the man she’d tracked down for drug smuggling.  She’d found suspicious, double-bottomed containers in his home and one of his friends had been convinced to turn on him after being caught in the act.  He had to be the last man involved in the operation.  But still…

A life.

This is her determination, and she gives the appearance of impassivity as she tells him what he is accused of.  Shock is plain on his face, before panic sets in.  After that, it doesn’t take much:

He resists.  She draws her sword.  And the carriage ride home is spent wrapped in her mother’s coat to hide the blood.

She had held her chin high in front of the officers who had arrived after the fact, but now the tears are rolling down her cheeks as she does her best to quietly blot them with a handkerchief.  In the quiet of the carriage, her mother has soft words and warm arms, but Lizzie can’t help but think about that feeling of standing on a precipice, that feeling of _choice._   And of action.  She wasn’t in the wrong, _she wasn’t,_ but the consequences remain.  (Why do people make the decisions that they do—why—why— _why—?)_

And that night finds her locked in her bathroom at home, sobbing and shaking as she throws up. 

_The kind of people who seek this power over others must be monsters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …or possess very strong convictions.... (Two lives. A little over two months ago, I decided two lives with a small group of eleven other people. And yet some people have the stomach go into politics and decide for a nation. That…responsibility…just the thought is enough to make me feel like running and screaming. It’s so incredibly, inconceivably heavy. A weight enough to topple a mountain, let alone little old me.)
> 
> Aaaand, whoops, I realized that I accidentally set the Phantomhives' deaths a year earlier than in canon.... I guess that'll just be a part of this AU. *sweatdrops* 
> 
> "Slip," as in to depart; to fall; to lose one’s purchase


	28. Cicerone

Elizabeth sits in front of one of the huge bay windows of Midford Manor’s front room, a spot she has chosen for its lighting.  It is early morning, and the ten-year-old pushes a lock of long blonde hair out of her reddened eyes as she carefully adds another blue stitch to her embroidered flower petals.

It is then that she is interrupted, as her mother gently pushes open the door and greets her.

“Ah, Elizabeth, there you are.  Put that stitching down, and come with me.”

Without a word, Lizzie places her embroidery hoop down into her sewing basket and follows after her mother, smoothing down her heavy black skirts as she goes. 

Francis leads them to the marchioness’ study, a place that she usually keeps locked; she allow others in so seldom that Elizabeth can only remember being inside of the room twice.  The girl hesitates, barely through the doorway, as her mother turns to face her. 

“Come here, Elizabeth,” Francis says, “Sit with me.”        

“What did you want me for, Mother?” Lizzie asks as she seats herself at the second chair that the marchioness has pulled up behind her desk.  Her mother gives her a tight little smile, and pulls a stack of papers towards them.

“As you know,” Francis says, “my brother had his fingers in a great many pots.  My family has always done things that way, trying their best to spread their influence as far as they could in order to gain allies.  _These_ are several letters that I have received from an associate of the Phantomhives in France. What do you make of them?”

Lizzie pulls one of the heavy pieces of paper towards her, only to stop in bemusement upon seeing the writing.

“Mother…?” she says, “These are in French.  I can’t read them.  Why—?”

Francis smiles another one of those strange, tiny smiles.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to learn, won’t you?" she says, "Look here, this mark is called a cedilla….”

Lizzie devours the French lessons, as well as the basics of Spanish and German which follow.  It is wonderful to have something to put her mind to, she finds; learning a language is a much better distraction than embroidery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuugh. I'm so tired. Work utterly wipes me out, and I need to read several chapters in my textbooks, and next week I have two tests. *sigh*  
> But, um, I made myself a timeline for this fic. :) It's quite useful, and very pretty indeed, if I do say so myself. I even have it set next to canon dates and events for comparison. I'd find a way to make it available to y'all, but...spoilers. (Lizzie's ten here, btw, in case you skipped over my mention of her wearing black)  
> Anyhoo, I love you all, thank you for reading, and please leave a review (like, did anyone ever tell me what they thought about how the jack the ripper arc wrapped up?). 
> 
> "Cicerone:" a scholarly guide; a conductor; a mentor


	29. Plumose

One of Elizabeth’s earliest memories is of being held in her father’s arms.  They are outside, and sunlight filters through the branches of a wide tree that fans out above their heads.  There’s a bird’s nest on one of the tree's lower bows, and Alexis lifts her up to get a better look.  She stares, wide-eyed, at the downy chicks inside.

“Fluffy,” she says, and reaches out to touch them, but she has barely moved before her father catches her hand in a gentle grip.

“Don’t touch, Lizzie,” he warns, “They’re very little, and you could hurt them by accident.”

She restates their fluffiness with a pout, and Alexis laughs.

“Yes,” he rumbles, his voice deep and warm, “I know, they’re very cute and fluffy.  But you know what’s even cuter?”

Lizzie shakes her head.

“You!  My little lady Lizzie, you’re much more adorable than those baby birds!”

He spins her in the air, and she shrieks with breathless giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... *coughs awkwardly* Um. See, the thing is, school is getting pretty intense, so I may have to take a little break from updating this for a while. I'll keep writing when I get the chance, and this story is never really far from my mind, so never fear; I will return to this. But, uh, I also need to learn the bones of the human body for my anatomy and physiology class (which is seriously intimidating, argh) and work on my class presentations, and choose an essay topic, and do online work for my hybrid class.... *screams in despair, why have I done this to myself, why* So...see y'all later? :)  
> And as always, thanks for reading.
> 
> “Plumose:” feathery; fluffy; soft


	30. Tie

“Aunt Ann,” Lizzie says, “can you teach me how to save a life?”

They are in the sitting room of the Burnett town house, taking tea next to the fire as snowflakes flutter against the windowpanes. Lizzie's mother and father have gone to Weston to collect Edward for the winter holidays, but Lizzie had decided she'd rather skip the trip and visit with her aunt until their return.

Angelina Dalles sets her teacup down.

“What are you asking me?” she queries.

“To…to teach me how to help people.”  Lizzie’s fingers trace the rim of her cup, and her aunt frowns.

“Can you tell me why?” she asks, one delicate eyebrow arched.

“I…” Elizabeth hesitates, trying to find the words to express the resolution that had been forming for months only to coalesce all at once.

“Because it’s hard,” she says firmly, and Aunt Ann looks confused.

“It is,” the baroness agrees, “and it’s not that simple, either.  There are an very many of things that can go wrong in the human body, and almost as many techniques to combat them.  Lizzie, I can’t teach you any universal way to heal someone.  If you’ve decided to follow in my footsteps and become a doctor, I can _help_ you learn, but that endeavor is beyond me alone.”

Lizzie looks up at her aunt through pale lashes, and resists the urge to bite her lip.

“I’m not asking for the whole world of medicine,” she says, “just…just something.  _A_ way to save a life.  You’ve taught me so much before, and I know that this is…different.  That it’s complicated; it’s not _ladylike_ , or an innocent sort of ambition, but Auntie, the person you teach me how to be is so different from who _you_ are.  And if I could leave everything behind and choose to do what I want, I _would_ become a doctor.”  She pauses in her tirade to catch her breath, and sees the way that her aunt’s eyes have widened, her arms fallen limp on the rests of her chair; when Lizzie continues, her voice is softer, gentler.

“But I can’t, so instead of societal niceties and life lessons, could you…tutor me in medicine?” 

And Angelina Dalles still looks bewildered, and slightly awed.  But Lizzie is asking her unconventional aunt for some unconventional lessons; teachings that are more _real_ than the flowery values that she’s spent so long instilling in the girl. ~~~~

And Lizzie waits, a completely foreign desperation clawing at her lungs, because she can’t keep going like she is: causing harm after effortless harm with no end in sight—no _balance—_ and the means to make up for it all, in some tiny, infinitesimal way, lies just beyond her fingertips.

Then Auntie Ann smiles.

“I can teach you first aid,” she says, “It isn’t how to save a life on your own, but it is the first step in a process that someone like me can finish.  But!” she says, and levels a sparkling gaze at Elizabeth, “I’m not going to let you fall behind on fashion or gossip; you’ll _drown_ at the next ball you attend, no niece of mine is going to flounder in society!  So in exchange for lessons, your free time is mine.  We’re going to go shopping, and I get to dress you up however I want!”

Angelina grins, and Lizzie can’t help but giggle.

“You say that as if it’s a punishment,” she laughs.  As if spending more time with her aunt could ever be anything but a joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*  
> You know, in my word doc I have about 19,000 words written for this fic. As opposed to my, what, 9,000-ish words posted? Ugh. Like, I know this isn't linear, but I have complete chapters written that I can't post because they take place too far ahead to make sense, or won't be meaningful without some build up.  
> Aaaanyhoo, I'm still swamped IRL, but this chapter was easy. The themes were all there; I just had to rewrite it because the first draft was utter garbage. Uhhhhm, what else? This one takes place shortly after "Slip."  
> ...Thank you all for reading, I'll keep on writing as I can, and good luck in whatever you all have going on IRL. I know it's midterm time for me. 
> 
> “Tie:” a bond, a match, a parallel, a balance


	31. Asseveration

It is well past midnight when the carriage approaches Midford Manor.  It rattles to a stop well before it reaches the end of the drive, and the door swings open, allowing a gust of misty rain to sweep inside.

Elizabeth is the first to descend, dressed in a boy’s shirt and trousers with her hair tucked up under a cap.  Mey-Rin follows after her, her own hair falling freely down her back and dressed below her station.  Their steps are heavy, sinking into the damp ground as they make their way around to the servants’ entrance and slip indoors. 

The long walk up to Elizabeth’s bedroom is spent in silence, and they encounter no one except for old Mr. Tanaka, who gives the pair a knowing look as he passes them in the hall.  Neither of them shy away from his gaze.

In the privacy of her room, Lizzie yanks off the cap and tosses it into a chair.  Her hair tumbles free as she tugs it out of its tight bun, and she sighs; behind her, Mey-Rin slumps against the door and scrubs a hand over her face.  There is a moment of stillness until Elizabeth turns to face her companion, and the look on girl’s face spurs Mey-Rin forward to pull her into a hug.

“Oh, Lizzie,” Mey-Rin mutters into her hair, “I’m so sorry.”

Elizabeth shakes her head against the rough wool of Mey-Rin’s blouse before pulling slightly away.

“Don’t—” the girl says, “don’t apologize.  It wasn’t your fault.  It wasn’t…it wasn’t either of our faults.  Sometimes these things just happen; we can’t save everyone.”

Mey-Rin’s gaze is soft, even as the night air whistles harshly against the windows. 

“I know,” the woman says as she looks down at the fourteen-year-old’s tired face, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.  And I know…that human trafficking is especially difficult for you.”

Something dark crosses Elizabeth’s expression.

“But we stopped them,” she says, “We stopped them.”

“We did,” the older woman agrees, and there is a beat of silence.  Then Lizzie pulls away and moves into the adjoining room to splash her face with cold water from the washbasin.  Mey-Rin lingers.

“Lizzie…” she says as the girl comes back in, “For what it’s worth, I believe in you.  No matter what happened tonight, I trust you; that you’ll always do what you can for the _right_ reasons.   You always insist that what we do is the ‘dirty work,’ and that your position is evil, but…you refuse to see that to a great many people…to me, to Bard, to Finny, you are our hero.  You saved us, and not just because we could be useful to you— _I_ was the one to insist I wanted to help—you did it because you have a good heart, and because you had the power to do so.  I know you probably wish that you’d never been given this burden, but I’m…I’m just selfish enough to be grateful.  I’m grateful to be your friend, and to be by your side, even on nights like this.”  Mey-Rin looks Elizabeth in the eyes, her hands clenched in her skirts.  Across the room from her, Lizzie’s hands shake as tears pool in the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says.  Her voice breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place later~  
> *sigh*  
> Well, Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!   
> ...  
> Also:  
> DON'T FORGET TO CONTACT YOUR REPRESENTATIVE ABOUT MAINTAINING NET NEUTRALITY!!   
> It's important, so, please?
> 
> “Asseveration:” an earnest declaration

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is a oneshot series, feel free to give me prompts or ideas that you think might work in this verse. If I think it works too, I'll try to include it. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lady Phantomhive (Artwork)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865673) by [Phoenix_of_Athena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena)
  * [More than Nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303341) by [Phoenix_of_Athena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_of_Athena/pseuds/Phoenix_of_Athena)




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